Last year, the anniversary of my assault carried great weight with me. I dreaded the coming of the date October 27, and worried that I would relapse into a spiral of terror and despair all over again. (I didn’t.)

This year, I completely forgot about it. The day came and went, and I didn’t notice.

It’s taken an enormous amount of work and suffering and rebuilding to get to a point where that’s even possible. I’m still wrestling with that night’s repercussions to this day, and likely will for a long time, but even I’m a little astounded that the second anniversary came and went, and I was just too busy to realize it. Hmph.